was a sweet spot, on the southern side of a gentle rise that overlooked the Bay and Narrows, and caught the first smile of Day, as he rose from the horizon and bathed himself in light; and the last rays of the sun rested on its bosom, while the twilight lingered there when darkness had hidden all below. Lottie had often played on it, and told her mother which was her corner. Poor child! she little thought how soon she would take possession; indeed, she always said it with as happy a smile as if she had been immortal, and would never need an earthly resting-place.

Mrs. May remained in the carriage, and when they took the coffin toward the grave, there was again that fixed and glassy look, those tearless eyes. How she longed to keep even the corpse for ever near her!

They lowered the little coffin into the grave, and, as the earth fell on the lid, said, 'Dust to dust, ashes to ashes!' and a little mound marked the place where, down, down in the earth, the fair-haired girl awaited the final reckoning.

They came to Mrs. May as they passed out, but she waved them away, and one after another left, until she was quite alone. Then she descended from the carriage, and went to the grave; and the servant brought a basket of flowers, and wept as he retired, for they all loved Lottie; and Mrs. May bent over the grave, and scattered flowers about it, she felt so wholly desolate, now that they had taken away the last link, the body of her poor child. The sun went down, and the night came on, as she knelt there, and tree and leaf and insect, all were hushed as still as the grave beneath her; and she looked up to the heavens, and saw the stars, like tapers on the pall of darkness which shrouded her, and she gazed and gazed, and her heart longed for a revelation of her child's fate and her own in that mysterious sphere, and her heart was softened as she gazed. Then she bent over the grave again, and took a little flower and put it in her bosom, and thought of her child and its last faint Mother!' and the tears came to her eyes, her bursting heart found vent, and she wept, oh, how long and passionately, as if existence itself were welling from her eyelids! Then she looked up again, and the sky seemed to have lost its darkness; and the stars dilated, and seemed to fill the heavens with glory; and her spirit became more rapt and exalted, as if spiritual influences were about her with which she could commune; and her lips were opened at last. She prayed long and earnestly to the FATHER who had taken her idol. She felt now too truly that it had been an idol, and she blessed His holy name, and knew why he had. taken her Lottie. Her mind became more exalted; a transcendent exoltation took possession of her soul, and it seemed to expand super-sensually, until it lost sight of earth and its earthly tenement, and rose to the feeling, the consciousness of the INFINITE. She seemed to have a dual existence, a being separate from her being; and looked down on herself, as she knelt at the grave, with an infinite pity. (Whether under the direct influence of the 'inspiration of heaven,' or the native powers of her soul drawn from their slumbers by surrounding circumstances, who shall tell?) And her soul expanded in its exaltation, until she felt herself a link between the INFINITE of Holiness and the great Soul of Humanity; and while a feeling of infinite love and pity for mankind took possession of her

soul, their errors and weaknesses shrank into the back-ground: even her own sorrows became vague, undefined, distant, almost little.

This consciousness, this exaltation, vouchsafed to the best of us so rarely, from the low or grovelling for ever barred, may come sometimes perhaps to mothers at the birth of their first-born, oftener at its death. A revelation to great minds at the moment of their best conceptions; to others, at the moment of death, or when death suddenly becomes imminent and near, and fear does not paralyze the soul. Sometimes it comes with the fervid devotion of the worshipper, filled with a holy and living faith; seldom, if ever, in mere religious ecstasy; this, the flash of the torch, soon out and lost; that, like the June sunshine, lighting all things, and drawing them from the earth to warmth and life. But it comes to none without leaving him better, wiser, stronger to endure and bear, and with deeper sympathies for the sufferings and errors of his kind.

Mrs. May knelt there, wrapped in her new existence, hour after hour, far into the night, until her servants were alarmed, and they came and accosted her; but she answered them calmly, and left the grave with a blessed peace in her heart; and they drove over the lonely road, and through the quiet and deserted streets, toward her desolate home, a sad, but a wiser, a better being; for her soul had known the divine depth, her heart had become the sanctuary of sorrow. GOD had taken away her loved ones for a time, but he had given his own love in their place, and she wept no more.

Schoolcraft, Mich.

UNUS ET ALTER.

IN the land of Greece, that glorious land,
A harp is swept by a female hand,
And e'en the attendant Muses own
The magic of its raptured tone.

But what rude strains are heard, the while,
In yon remote, wild, barbarous isle?

'Tis the Druid's hymn, to the war-god given,
The terrible God of the Druid's heaven.
Awfully fatal those harsh notes sound

In the ear of the victim doomed and bound:
But oh! what changes o'er earth have passed,
Since the reign of the LORD hath come at last!
Druid song and SAPPHO's lay,

Forgotten and lost, have passed away;

And hark! where the war-god's song was heard,
The air with harmonious sounds is stirred;

Again 'tis a female sweeps the strings,
Angels are listeners while she sings.
Never, oh! never shall pass away,
HEMANS! from earth thy glorious lay;
Over the world to the old time known,
Over the world by the world-finder shown
To Christian men, thy strains have flown
From the barbarous isle so wild and lone!

E. L. B

COME and see me in the autumn, fruitful season of the year,
When the days are cool and pleasant, and the evenings long and clear.
I will meet you at the dépôt, drive you safely all the way:
Bring no satchel, but your boxes, if you come; pray come to stay!
'Tis a pleasant drive from Brooklyn, shaded well with way-side trees;
As you ride, you feel the vigor of the bracing ocean breeze;
Passing 'loves' of country-houses, nestled lovingly 'mid green,
And the broad and fruitful orchards lie conveniently between.
Now the ponies in the sunshine loiter at an even pace;
Now, a carriage passing quickly urges them to win the race.
Faster fly our sprightly horses; all around are clouds of dust:
Do not speak it, if you feel a little natural disgust!

In the distance, at the turning, spy you not a snowy gate?
Close beside the 'Lodge' you see it, porticoed and roofed with slate.
Ah! the portress has been watching; see, the gate is opened wide:
Gliding slowly o'er the gravel, look around on every side.
See the turf, how smooth and even, scattered o'er with lofty trees:
Saw you e'er a knoll so lovely, or the shadows sweet as these?
There's the arbor, with its fountain, where I love to linger long;
Just the place, I can assure you, for a sentimental song.
'Neath that grove of sturdy beeches, on your left and just before,
KATE and EMMA frolic daily, as we frolicked days of yore.
Fondly, sadly now I pass them: there my little ERNEST played;
Hushed his laugh, his bounding footstep passed for ever from the glade!
Flowers of one long, lonely summer o'er him in beauty wave:
Half my heart, my precious darling, lieth with thee in the grave!
Oh, forgive a mother's sadness! do not heed a starting tear,
Though it falleth on this happiest, merriest day of all the year!

Just behind those alder-bushes, skirting that low, mossy spot,
Lies a walk all richly shaded, leading to a lonely grot,
Formed for quiet contemplation, close beside a flowing stream,
Where the sunlight through the branches casteth many a fitful gleam.
Here's the house! the horses know it; how they raise their slender ears!
Two white dresses at the shutters: come and welcome me, my dears!
This, my first-born, fair and ruddy KATRINE, daughter of my youth;
In her hazel eyes there gleameth all the light of love and truth.
How her laughing lips, so ruby, mindeth me of ERNEST's smile!
Fear not, darling, thy caresses shall me of this gloom beguile.
Here is EMMA: timid nursling, raise thy modest eyes of blue;
These brown tresses, softly curling, like her father's are in hue;
And she has his quiet manners, his enthusiastic fire:
More may she resemble him, is my fervent, warm desire!
If a mother e'er can nourish partial feelings in her breast,
Then I fear I shame to say it-she is loved more than the rest;
For I feel her father's beauty and his virtues in her shine,
And I constantly thank Heaven, precious treasure, she is mine!

You are weary: let us enter. Pray, forgive my husband's stay;
Business called him, in the morning, to the city all the day;
But before we're dressed for supper he will greet you with delight,
For he seldom stays till evening, and he'll surely come to-night!
On your right our parlors lie, neatly furnished, long and wide,
And the green-house opening from them, with the library beside;
To the left the nursery, and my sitting-room within:
Here I work and teach the children, here my daily cares begin.

This deep window, with its settle, hath a very pleasant view
Of the village of Jamaica, houses, trees, and spires too;
This flat, open, sandy country to your northern taste is new.
In the north wing opening from this is your chamber: are you pleased?
Should the children's noise disturb you, tell me truly when you're teased.
(Ope the shutters, KATE, my darling.) See, the garden terrace here;
Cull as many flowers as please you: are you fond of them, my dear?
You perceive the summer's beauty lingereth here with ten-fold bloom,
And the zephyrs always bring you through this casement sweet perfume.
These few pots of monthly roses, and this fragrant mignonette
Are for you to care for daily, prune and water-don't forget!
Pray forgive my seeming counsel, but I like that all should learn,
In performing daily duties, gratefully to pleasure turn.
(Come, my children, let us leave her; father must be very nigh.)
Half an hour, dear, to supper: look your loveliest—now good-bye!

How that snowy dress becomes you with the lilies in your hair!
Years have added to your graces, while they rob me every where.
Pleasant days come back to me as I see you thus arrayed;
But to show you thus to WALLACE, I am really afraid.

Do come with me to the study; he has gone himself before:
We will watch him, ere we enter, at the open green-house door.
Quickly, lightly through the parlors; do not linger 'mong the flowers;
You shall see them other seasons, you shall tend them other hours:
Two broad steps to mount- -bend nearer: can you plainly see within?
There he sits beside the table: does n't he look pale and thin?
This long day at town has tired him; I am sorry he has been.

He has pushed his book before him, with his glossy head reclined 'Gainst the chair-back-love and firmness in his lifted eyes enshrined. Saw you e'er a face so noble, or a mien so proudly grand?

Yet he has the gentlest, truest, kindest heart in all the land.

He has gathered here around him learned books from all the world,
And his own bright genius o'er them like a banner lies unfurled.
He can speak in every language, and he has a poet's pen,
And for much and varied learning is he honored among men.
Though he ranks with proud and wealthy by his gentle, unstained birth,
And though sweet to know him honored, sweeter far to know his worth!
Heaven has blessed me with its bounties: wealth the needy to supply,
Many friends, both true and tender, station, home, and health have I;
Blessed my home with three sweet children, tenderly, most dearly loved,
Yet of all, my loving husband has the greatest blessing proved!
Every joy he shareth with me; and when sorrowful in grief-
Oh, to weep upon his bosom is such precious, sweet relief!

Long may Heaven spare him to me, dearest friend and constant guide,
Teach me to fulfil his wishes, be his honor and his pride!

Oh! what pleasant, long excursions we will take while you are here! We will ride about Jamaica, which you know is very near;

And some morning very early we will go to Rockaway,

Take the children, and in bathing spend the live-long autumn day.
We will have a sailing-party and a pic-nic, and will send
Invitations to the neighbors; they'll enjoy it to attend.
On the Sabbath to the city: of the drive you will not tire,
For the preaching of our pastor and our church you must admire.
We will in the tangled wild-wood wander with unwearied feet,
And our books and work will carry to the rustic garden-seat;
Then my little KATE shall for us lightly dance upon the glade,
Where the turf is soft and even, and the lindens weave a shade;
And at dewy evening hour we will list to WALLACE sing
Songs that to your listening senses pleasant memories will bring.

Oh! 'twill be a happy season, calling up forgotten hours,

When our future was all brightness, and our present filled with flowers.
Memory's glance 'tis sweet to cherish, but I sorrow not to know
That the past is ever buried in the grave of long ago.'

Albany, Oct., 1851.

L. L. 8.

Schediasms.

THE SUPERFICIALNESS OF MEN IN LARGE CITIES

BY PAUL BIOGVOLK.

TAKE any man, born, bred and educated in a large city, ten to one he is superficial, thoroughly superficial; superficial in his thoughts, in his cultivation, in his reverence, in his purpose. He looks at life as a moving panorama; enjoying what is immediately before him, careless of what has gone, indifferent as to what is coming, looking neither before nor after, but vividly appreciating the present. Precedent and prophecy are to him alike unmeaning and without weight or influence. MEMORY and FORECAST are faculties used only as bases of calculating daily gainful speculations, or as ministers to his pleasures. They are no part of his mental being. They are not inwoven with its texture, as the warp, but the mere selvage, to be torn from the cloth for homely use. They are not faculties spiritual, but helps practical only. They are not, as they should be, the links of a golden chain, connecting the present with the eternity of the past on one side, and the eternity of the future on the other. To the superficial, things temporal and things eternal are not thus allied.

Swift, in his 'Tale of a Tub,' complains bitterly of this superficialness of the city-bred literary men of his day. We of this age,' says he, 'have discovered a shorter and more prudent method than the ancients to become scholars and wits, without the fatigue of reading or thinking. The most accomplished way of using books at present is two-fold. Either, first, to serve them as some men do lords, learn their titles exactly, and then brag of their acquaintance; or, secondly-which is, indeed, the choicer, the profounder, the politer method-to get a thorough insight into the index, by which the whole book is turned and governed, like fishes by the tail; for to enter at the palace of learning, by the great gate, requires an expense of time and forms; therefore, men of much taste and little ceremony are content to get in at the back door. Thus men catch knowledge by throwing their wit into the posteriors of a book, as boys do sparrows with flinging salt upon their tails.'

A graphic illustration, truly and it seems to have jumped with the humor of Pope, when he afterward, striking at this same vice, exclaims, with more than a 'coincidence:'

"How index-learning turns no student pale,
Yet holds the eel of science by the tail.'

And Hazlitt, too, has remarked, in his Essay on the Ignorance of the